


children of the force

by queenofteacups



Series: Where the Sun Sails and the Moon Walks [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Fake Character Death, Force Visions, Force-Sensitive Finn, Gen, Heavy Angst, Multi, The death is just in a vision
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofteacups/pseuds/queenofteacups
Summary: Before darkness gripped the galaxy again, there was peace and balance. Before they were legends, they were children. These are the stories of the Solo twins, Finn Skywalker, and Rey Kenobi.Part 1 of my upcoming Finn Skywalker AU.





	1. dreams of the future

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the First Part of my Finn Skywalker AU! This will be primarily set in Legends "canon" with stuff from Disney!canon added in.
> 
> This is the first "fic" in the series, and will describe events up into the full length fic. Consider it the Rogue One to my A New Hope.
> 
> Tags will be added to as future chapters are added. If you have any questions about the fic, you can find me on Tumblr at rosestico!
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains a (non-graphic) "death" scene that Ben sees in a vision.

_ Smoke. _

 

_ It was all Ben could see or smell. The stone floor beneath his bare feet were slick with something he couldn't see. The smoke around him blazed orange, signalling a nearby fire, one he could not see.  _

 

_ Then the air began to clear, and Ben caught sight of a hooded figure kneeling on the ground, their head lowered. Ben felt their sense in the Force, recognized it as his own blood. _

 

_ “Uncle Luke!” he shouted, picking up his pace. If anyone would know what was going on, it was Uncle Luke. “Uncle Luke-” Ben faltered, slowing to a stop as he became aware of another figure, standing tall in front of Luke, holding a pair of twin lightsabers to his uncle’s neck.  _

 

_ “Luke…” Ben choked, all the air in his lungs suddenly gone. His heart slammed inside his chest, like he’d just done a somersault, and he felt icy cold. _

 

_ “Are you prepared to die for your cause, Jedi scum?” a distorted voice asked. The lightsaber wielder must’ve been using a voice modulator.  _

 

_ Luke inclined his head, his hood falling backwards. “You won't win. A new hope  _ will _ emerge.” _

 

_ The figure turned its head, revealing a inky black face mask, and Ben could  _ feel  _ its eyes on him. A chill ran down the center of Ben’s spine and he felt trapped, like he was staring down a hungry Rancor. Slowly, deliberately, the figure turned back to Luke. _

 

_ “I don't think so, Skywalker.”  The figure made a quick movement with their lightsabers, and Ben felt the contents of his stomach rise up to his mouth as the blades….as the blades… _

 

_ A scream ripped out of Ben’s mouth as Luke’s body fell to the floor…no, his  _ robes  _ fell to the floor.  _

 

_ Then a second scream filled the air, an inhuman one, and the dark figure rushed forward, toward Ben, and the next thing that filled his vision was the flash of a crimson blade-- _

 

_ And then he was falling. _

 

_ Flashes of places he’d never been appeared in his mind’s eye, a planet of lava...a man’s voice, deep and commanding, “Skywalker’s son must not become a Jedi”...mechanic breathing…a pair of scarlet colored eyes… _

 

_ And then he landed. _

 

_ He was in his room, but it was cold and dark. Instead of being in his bed, Ben was standing in front of his mirror, but someone else was looking back. A man with sunken eyes that were a sickly yellow, with red veins… _

 

_ “You will kill Skywalker!” _

 

_ A voice that sounded startlingly like Ben replied, “As you wish, my master.” _

 

Ben bolted upright in bed, panting. Perspiration beaded across his forehead. He leapt up, stumbling as his feet twisted in the blankets, and hobbled to the fresher, panic clouding his eye with only one need.

 

But as the light flicked on and he looked himself in the mirror, his eyes were the same brown they always were. 

 

Ben sank against the sink, bringing his breathing to a calm steady rhythm, using the calming techniques his mother taught him. Slowly, he looked back up at the mirror. Still, the young Jedi stared back at him.

 

“It was just a dream,” Ben told himself. “It didn't mean anything.”

 

It was a mantra he’d become familiar with in the last few months. It seemed that the further Ben got into his studies, the more frequent the dreams were. When they had first begun, it was one every week. Now it was one every night. 

 

Night after night, Ben Solo was forced to watch his loved ones (his parents, his sister, his uncle and Aunt, even his youngest cousin) die by the hands of a mysterious figure wielding two crimson blades.

 

And with each passing night, the harder it became to shake them off as mere dreams. During one of their sessions, Luke had explained that the Force would often gift Jedi with glimpses into the future, in the form of visions. They were sometimes impossible to puzzle together, as they usually came in fragments. But sometimes they were so vivid enough that they didn't  _ feel _ like mere visions.

 

That dream didn't feel like a dream.

 

Ben wrenched himself away from the sink and mirror, and back into his bedroom. It was messy and lived in, with photos of his family strewn all around. 

 

Carefully, Ben picked one up: it was a family photo of Luke, and his wife Mara Jade. The blue tint of the holophoto made it impossible to recognize any coloring on either of them, but Ben knew their appearances by heart. Luke, slightly taller than his wife, with a bright smile and kind eyes, his sandy blonde hair starting to gray here and there, matching the lines that had appeared on his ivory colored face. Mara Jade, a figure like a dancer, with a cloud of gold-red hair, and umber colored skin. 

 

In Luke's arms rested a baby, sleeping quite peacefully in the presence of his parents. A small smile was present on his face, his eyes scrunched up adorably as he slept.

 

If the dreams Ben was having were true, then someone out in the galaxy wanted to destroy Luke, or his son. Or worse: try and turn the youngest Skywalker to the Darkside.

 

_ Don't worry, Finn. I won't let anything happen to you. _

 

Ben sat the photo back down, the last remnants of the dream waning, but the gut twisting feeling he felt that the dreams were a warning remained.

 

There hadn't been a true Sith Lord since Darth Vader and the Emperor had been destroyed, so was it even possible that the person Ben kept seeing was a Sith? They were certainly strong within the Darkside, he knew that.

 

A knock on his door distracted him from his thoughts, and he moved swiftly to open the door. Standing on the other side of the door was Jaina, her dark brown hair and wromprat’s nest from sleep.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked groggily. “Your sense is..all over the place.”

 

Ben internally winced. He’d decided to keep the dreams a secret when they started to become a nightly occurrence, deciding that once Luke returned from a recruitment trip, Ben would tell his uncle. But keeping the dreams a secret from his twin with whom he shared a special bond through the Force was proving to be a harder challenge than Ben originally estimated.

 

“I’m fine, just having trouble sleeping.” Ben lied, and the look of disbelief on his sister's face said she wasn't buying it.

 

Sure enough, he felt their bond open up, and then he could hear her in his mind:  _ You’re a terrible liar, Ben.  _

 

_ It was just a nightmare, _ Ben replied.

 

_ You're awfully shaken for  _ just _ a nightmare. Want some company? _

 

_ Do you mind?  _ Ben asked. 

 

_ As long as you take the floor, not at all. You flop around too much. And you snore. _ Jaina replied, stepping past Ben, who rolled his eyes at her back.

 

_ And you don't? _

 

Jaina ignored him, throwing herself onto his mattress, and curling up to a pillow. Ben made himself a pile on the floor (he may flop around a lot, but Jaina had a habit of kicking her legs in her sleep, which resulted in a lot of bruising) and laid down beside the bed. 

 

Jaina’s hand appeared over the edge, and Ben took it gratefully. Somehow his sister always knew what he needed. 

 

Slowly, Ben drifted off into a dreamless sleep, but the tingling in the very back of his mind remained, although clouded by fatigue.

 

_ Something is coming _ , the Force whispered, fighting to be heard.  _ Something is coming. _


	2. aboard the chimera...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FN-2187 is given a choice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who supported and read the first chapter! Your reblogs, kudos, and comments meant the world to me!
> 
> As with Disney!canon, Finn is taken away as a child and raised as a stormtrooper. There's a few references to Before the Awakening in this chapter, as well as the EU. And there's a few cameos!

Following the last training exercise of the day, FN-2187 split up from the rest of the group to head back to the barracks. They were going for dinner (he wasn't hungry), and didn't ask for him to join (as always).

 

Eight-Seven was used to being alone. He’d been alone among thousands his entire life, even since before being a cadet. The rest of his squadron, and every other squadron, ignored him and didn't bother building a friendship with him.

 

For years, Eight-Seven thought it was because of his accomplishments. He always ended up in the top 1 percent at the end of every assignment, exercise, or test that he was given. His superiors were known to call him their best trooper, and Eight-Seven hadn't been blind to his fellow trooper’s contempt toward his unofficial title.

 

Within recent years, he had begun to wonder if they knew his secret. 

 

He was considered to be the most loyal stormtrooper the First Order had, but only because he knew how to keep his mouth shut. As soon as he became old enough to be aware, Eight-Seven had grown a certain cold fury at the army he had been forced to fight for. He first realized there had been a time when his life had been a full one, bright with possibilities, filled with his family. The First Order had stolen him away from that one, stripped him of his birth name, and shoved him into a uniform identical to millions of others.

 

The second realization was that the First Order was  _ wrong.  _ It was a mutinous thought, one Finn tried hard not to focus on, but it haunted him through the night, making him question every successful mission he heard about, wondered how many Innocents had died as collateral. 

 

He convinced himself that these thoughts would go away on his first mission. Maybe every cadet had these doubts, due to nerves as they edged toward their first time out?

 

Eight-Seven shook his head. He was too exhausted to deal with these troubling questions now. All he wanted to do was collapse into his bunk and read one of his historical holo novels-

 

“FN-2187.”

 

Eight-Seven froze, turned around and snapped a salute as the chrome-armored clad Captain stalked toward him, scarlet cape billowing behind her as she walked.

 

“Yes, Captain?”

 

“You are to come with me--immediately.” Phasma responded.

 

Eight-Seven's heart rate increased, but he did as he was ordered and followed Phasma. The further they walked, the more confused he became. Phasma was leading them straight to the launching bay. 

 

Phasma stalked into the bay of an Upsilon-class command shuttle, Eight-Seven trailing after her. Without a word or command to follow, she entered the cockpit. The door slid close behind her with a quick hiss.

 

Eight-Seven stared after her as the shuttle ramp closed behind him, leaving the cargo bay in darkness. A second later, crimson lights clicked on as the engines roared to life.

 

Not entirely sure how he ended up in this position, Eight-Seven sat down as the shuttle lifted off. Anxiety clawed at his stomach. What if Phasma was taking him away from the base just so she could jettison him into space?

 

He chuckled darkly to himself. No, she wasn't taking him somewhere just to kill him. If she or anyone else in the First Order wanted him dead, they would have done it publicly to make a point. And they would have no reason to kill him. He was the best and most loyal trooper they had.

 

As long as he kept his mouth shut.

 

~

 

The trip was longer than he estimated. At least five hours had passed when the shuttle made its descent, and Phasma left the cockpit for the first time. 

 

Unsurprisingly, she was silent as they walked down the ramp, and Eight-Seven blinked several times behind his helmet against the harsh fluorescent lights of the launch bay, as a variety of noises assaulted his audio filters--droids, people, ships--and he abruptly realized that they weren't on another base on some other backworld planet. He was standing in a Star Destroyer.

 

The trip through the innermost levels of the destroyer went by as a blur of gray and black uniforms, polished floors, and mouse droids, until at last they arrived at their destination.

 

Eight-Seven stared at the closed doors, apprehension curling around at the pit of his stomach. Something was about to happen. Something that would change his life.

 

He mentally shrugged off the feeling and the quiet whisper of a voice that accompanied it, as he always did when it appeared. That whisper of knowledge before it happened was another thing that separated him from the rest, and was another thing he knew he must keep hidden.

 

Phasma marched away soundlessly as the doors split apart with a hiss, allowing him entrance. It was pitch black in the room, but up ahead he could see holophotos of various paintings and sculptures--

 

He froze in his tracks, adrenaline already pumping through his veins as the voice in his head screamed  _ danger! _

 

He saw the blaf seconds before it was at his throat. Instinctively, Eight-Seven grabbed the arm that held the weapon and twisted it. The vibroblade hit the ground with a clatter, and whomever Eight-Seven attacked hissed in retribution. 

 

The next second he was clinging to air, and then the next he was in a chokehold by something he couldn't see. 

 

Panic flooded his senses as he wondered if he had been wrong. Maybe Phasma had brought him here to kill him. Maybe she knew how different he was, maybe she somehow sensed his doubts about the Order.

 

Was this how he wanted to die? Alone, in the dark wearing his stupid white armor?

 

_ I don't want to die...I don't want to be a stormtrooper- _

 

“Rukh, that's enough. He is our guest.”

 

The grip around Eight-Seven's neck disappeared and he began coughing violently as air flooded his lungs again. 

 

“Sorry,” a rattley voice whispered. Eight-Seven looked up to see a devilish looking creature staring back at him. Rukh, he guessed was its name. He didn't sound very sorry at all.

 

“My apologies for Rukh,” said the same cool, commanding voice that stopped the creature. “He hasn't had the chance to hunt in awhile. Come forward, FN-2187.”

 

Eight-Seven obeyed, and stepped into the center of the room. Standing in front of a painting of a Twi’lek woman, his back turned to Eight-Seven, was a man in a stark white uniform. He had midnight blue hair, and when he turned around, Eight-Seven found himself staring a man with blue skin and blood red eyes.

 

“Kindly remove your helmet, Eight-Seven. I wish to see your face.” said Grand Admiral Thrawn. 

 

Eight-Seven hesitated a moment. It was unorthodox for a superior to order the removal of a helmet, but from what Eight-Seven heard, Thrawn was known for being unorthodox. 

 

The helmet came off, and Thrawn smiled. “It’s nice to finally place a face to the reputation. Come, sit down.” He gestured to the desk in the center of the room. Thrawn swept behind the desk, sitting down in the sole chair behind it. Eight-Seven sat down opposite of him. 

 

“The meeting will begin in proper once Grand Admiral Sloane arrives, but first I would like to get to know you. Not just your skills, but your philosophies, interests.”

 

Eight-Seven’s heart plummeted. Maybe they did know of his doubts, perhaps they sent him here, to the geniuses behind the Order to understand  _ why _ he was having these mutinous thoughts. And so that they could put a stop to them.

 

Or perhaps they didn't. Thrawn didn't act as though he suspected anything, but who knew what the Chiss was thinking.

 

“You are the top of your class in every subject, Eight-Seven, but I would like to know what truly interests you.” Thrawn continued. He had his fingers laced together underneath his chin, scarlet eyes boring into Eight-Seven’s.

 

“History, sir.”

 

Thrawn looked impressed. “History, eh? Why?”

 

Eight-Seven faltered, the answer freezing on his lips. Should he tell the truth? Or come up with a lie? 

 

_ Thrawn would know if I lied.  _

 

“Because I don't know my own history, or name. It's a mystery to me that's always be out of my reach. But the history of the galaxy? The names of its heroes and outlaws, the battles it's endured...I can't know my own story, but I can know theirs. And it...it makes the pain go away for awhile.” 

 

The room went silent as Eight-Seven finished his response, and Thrawn stared at him emotionlessly for a moment, before something akin to remorse spread across his face.

 

“Keeping such secrets from my men is not something I enjoy, Eight-Seven. I would have rather preferred a different method of gaining troops, but it was a desperate time. Not knowing one’s history…” Thrawn trailed off a moment, then appeared to mentally shake whatever thought he was having. “Telling me the truth was a courageous move, young man. Many would have fabricated a lie to please me, you told me the cold, hard truth. I admire that.”

 

Eight-Seven suddenly understood why people liked Thrawn. He appreciated his troops in a way that most did not, made them feel special. Like they meant something.

 

Before Eight-Seven could reply, a woman swept past him and briskly moved behind the desk with Thrawn. She wore the uniform of a Grand Admiral, had umber colored skin, and dark hair that was pulled out of her way. 

 

“This is him, then? FN-2187?” Grand Admiral Rae Sloane said, appraising him. “He’s shorter than I was expecting.”

 

Thrawn ignored her comment. “Eight-Seven was telling me about his love of history, which I'm sure you heard, waiting by the door.”

 

“I did,” Sloane replied, breezing past the fact that Thrawn knew she’d eavesdropped. “It was a bold move, answering so honestly. But I would like to know, Eight-Seven, can you lie?”

 

Eight-Seven blinked. “What?”

 

“Honesty is all well and good, but this is war. Deceit needs to be second nature, as should suspicion. You should always have your guard up.” 

 

“Are you finished?” Thrawn asked dryly, looking up at Sloane. “Or was there more?”

 

Sloane glowered at him.

 

“I can lie.” Eight-Seven said. “Ask me a question, and I will lie.”

 

Sloane folded her arms, “Tell me, FN-2187...what do you think of the First Order?” 

 

“I think it's an honorable cause filled with good, honest people.” Eight-Seven answered easily.

 

Thrawn smirked, and Sloane’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

 

“You wanted him to lie, Grand Admiral. He lied.” Thrawn told her smugly. “And he's right. We aren't good, we certainly aren't honorable or honest. But we are a necessity.”

 

Sloane nodded, “It appears we’ve found ourselves someone who isn't blind to the truth of the Empire. We aren't honest, we backstab whomever we can to get the top. We do what must be done for the sake of the galaxy, no matter how dirty the deed. Would you be willing to do those things, Eight-Seven?”

 

“If ordered to, yes.”

 

Thrawn and Sloane exchanged a glance. Words were shared, but not spoken. Feeling now as if he were out of the loop, Eight-Seven waited.

 

They turned back to him, serious expressions on both of their faces. Thrawn, however, looked more eager than Sloane.

 

“We have a proposition for you, Eight-Seven. Stay aboard  _ the Chimera,  _ and serve as one of my ensigns. As talented as you are, you are likely to go through several ranks in the next few years. Or you may return to Starkiller with Captain Phasma. It's your choice.”

 

The word  _ choice _ echoed in Eight-Seven's head, echoed alongside the beat of his heart. He’d never been given a choice before in his life, and now he had one right in front of him. 

 

_ The First Order is wrong... they're the bad guys...can I really work for them? _

 

_ Do I really have a  _ choice _? _

 

No. He could choose how to serve them, but not if he wanted to be with them. If he continued as a stormtrooper, that would mean that someday--and someday soon--he would have to go into battle, and spill innocent blood.

 

Or he could remain in the Navy, serving as an ensign. He may never even  _ see _ battle.

 

“I’d be happy to serve under you, sir.” Eight-Seven said.

 

Thrawn smiled, “Excellent. One of our captains will be here soon to take you to your new room. There you’ll find an information packet I’m sure you'll find... _ interesting. _ Dismissed, Ensign.”

 

Eight-Seven stood and snapped a salute. Sloane and Thrawn nodded to him, before turning to discuss something. Eight-Seven exited the room silently, and stepped out into the deserted hallway. 

 

The door slid close behind him, and Eight-Seven leaned against it for support. In one night, his entire world had changed. He was a free man, of sorts. He had  _ choices _ , for the first time in his life. He could walk around without a helmet all he wanted, without being reprimanded. 

 

Lost in his own thoughts, Eight-Seven didn't notice that someone had walked up until a snobbish voice said, “Do you plan on standing there all night? I've got more important jobs to get done than to just babysit you.”

 

Eight-Seven turned to find himself staring at a lanky man with a shock of ginger hair. There was a scowl on his face as he stared at Eight-Seven, and judging from the frown lines that had prematurely appeared on his otherwise young face, it was a perpetual expression.

 

“Sorry, Captain…?”

 

“Captain Hux,” the man replied briskly. “Come along, as I said, I haven't got all day.”

 

Eight-Seven nodded and stepped away from the door. Hux turned on his heel, and stalked away. Eight-Seven followed, wondering what was in the information packet Thrawn promised him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, you'll know what's in that packet as soon as tomorrow (assuming my kitten will let me write tonight)!
> 
> In the meantime, if you want to send in any fic requests or questions about this au, feel free to send them to me on @rosestico on Tumblr! I'm always up for talking about my fic, and I'd love to hear what you all think!


	3. a promise...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight-Seven's world turns upside down when he reads the information packet Thrawn gives him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2/2. Wowie the response to this fic...has astonished me?? Seriously, thank you everyone for reading and commenting and kudos-ing and reblogging.
> 
> This is the second part to last chapter, which means more Finn!! *Cheers*
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, I don't think. If I'm wrong, feel free to let me know.

The datapad clattered to the floor, bounced once, and landed next to a discarded piece of white plastoid armor. 

 

His new uniform was itchy, and the collar felt like it was choking him. The room,  _ his _ room, felt much too small. He felt exposed, like a nerve, his mind stretching to its absolute limit. Voices rumbled in his head, distorted echoes from the past, none of them matching the information he just read.

 

Finn Ardellian. 

 

That was his name, Finn. The name felt odd on his tongue, yet familiar in a way that made him want to sob. He remembered a boy whispering to him, “ _ it's alright, Finn. It was just a nightmare. I won't let anything happen to you.” _

 

He was an orphan.

 

His parents, Garik Ardellian and Bria Drayson, died when he was a year old in a shuttle accident. He’d been left an orphan, but was picked up by the First Order.

 

There was no one in the universe that missed him, or cared for him. It was that truth most of all that broke him. He was alone in the galaxy. No one was looking for him to bring him home. Home to Corellia…

 

For years, he thought his parents were alive. No, he  _ knew.  _ He felt their absence as a dull ache in his chest, but could still feel their light. They were absent, yes, but they weren't gone.

 

_ They're alive, _ a voice whispered in his head,  _ they're still out there. Thrawn is lying. _

 

Finn shook the thought off. Denial wouldn't help and neither would blind optimism-

 

And yet…

 

The light was still there, burning inside him. The whisper was that of the mysterious guide that often warned him of danger.

 

Finn picked up the datapad and read through it a third time. Finn was  _ definitely _ his name, but Ardellian wasn't. And he knew, somehow, that he’d never stepped foot on Corelia, but he  _ did _ have a connection to it.

 

_ Two truths and a lie, _ Finn thought.

 

It was Thrawn's doing, he knew. He’d fallen right into Thrawn's trap, telling him the truth about why he loved history. Thrawn had found a weakness, and decided to exploit it, first through feigned remorse, and now this. Just enough to make the average officer loyal enough to follow him into battle.

 

But Finn wasn't an average officer.

 

He was different, in so many ways, but most of all because he saw the truth that so many people could not about the First Order.

 

_ “Deceit needs to be second nature, as should suspicion. You should always have your guard up.”  _

 

He would lie. He would make them believe that he believed them, that he was a hundred percent loyal to Thrawn and Sloane. 

 

And he would continue looking for his family, his  _ real _ family, and when he found them, he would leave the First Order behind for good.

 

That was a promise. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Thrawn is one blue skinned jerk, ain't he? Never fear, one day Finn will discover his Jade-Skywalker heritage. 
> 
> (Probably around the same time he meets a Kenobi, but shhhhh no spoilers)
> 
> Feel free to ask me about this au (or send in fic requests for it!) on Tumblr! I'm @stilinskystiles there (I changed it after the teen wolf finale, whoops).


	4. a bitter frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A duel in the snow, a broken girl, and an unfulfilled promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for reading this fic? It blows my mind that it's got a following??? Thanks for hopping aboard this train!
> 
> This was written as part of SW fictober, a challenge going on on Tumblr, and today's theme was "emotion". 
> 
> Which was a /very/ bad prompt given my evil mind. 
> 
> Content warning: death (of the non main character variety and also non graphic) and a whole lot of angst.

There was a snap-hiss as Lorna Kyrze ignited her saber. She had stepped directly in front of her daughter, legs parted and feet planted firmly in the wet snow as she prepared for her final battle.

 

“Rey! Get to the shuttle--now!” Lorna ordered without looking back. Her figure turned into a mere silhouette when, a few meters ahead, a crimson blade came to life.

 

Rey froze in place as the lithe figure slowly approached, twirling their saber carelessly as they walked. A long cloak rustled behind them, and their face was covered with a mask.

 

“Move, Jedi. I have no use for you,” the Sith said, coming to a stop. “Step aside and give me the girl.”

 

When Lorna spoke again, it wasn't directed at the Sith, but at Rey. “Run! Go, I'll be right behind you.”

 

Rey’s eyes flickered between Lorna, then the Sith. Her heart slammed against her chest, a coldness settling in the bottom of her belly that didn't have anything to do with the bitter winter of Yavin 4.

 

She nodded once, although Lorna couldn't see, and turned and ran. Her breaths came out in puffs ahead of her as she trudged through the snow toward the small shuttle. More than once she fell, but she got right back up, the sounds of the battle behind her forcing her into action.

 

Three steps, two steps…

 

She fell onto the ramp, scraping her hands as she hit the metal. Rey turned around in time to see Lorna on the ground, her saber some distance away from her, red hair splayed across the stark white snow like blood. 

 

The Sith raised its crimson blade, and struck it deep into Lorna’s abdomen. A scream lodged itself in Rey’s throat, but it never escaped. Instead, she scrambled inside the shuttle as the Sith's attention returned to her.

 

The ramp closed behind her, and Rey rushed to the cockpit. Lorna had taught her the basics of flying, and Rey was an observant girl.

 

In a few seconds, the engines roared to life and she was taking off, piercing up through the trees like an arrow, up into the darkness above. It was a safe haven from the bitter white frost behind her. 

 

As soon as the ship hit hyperspace, the tears began to fall. And soon they became sobs as Rey realized that Lorna would not be there to comfort her any longer.

 

A single, soft word fell from her lips between words, one filled with love and regret and indescribable agony.

  
“Mama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Rey Kenobi.
> 
> Lorna is indeed Satine and Obi-Wan's daughter, and she is part of Luke's Jedi Order. This fic takes part in this AU's version of the Second Jedi Purge. Instead of the whole Order being destroyed, it's just the Academy--which is only attacked because Rey is there, and our least favorite sith needs to get rid of her because, well, Kenobis are quite the handful.
> 
> Feel free to send me fic requests or questions about this fic on Tumblr! You can find me @twelfth--doctor (I swear that's the last url change for a long time).


End file.
